The embers in my lungs migrate to every muscle, making the last of my harsh, long steps across the yard toward the trailer set me on fire. Everything is blazing, resulting in my whimpers up the steps to be dry and pitiful.
Last time I was thrashing the doors open, I had a sense of safety slow me down while crossing the threshold.
But the threat is right behind me.
His predatory chase is shaking the wooden porch, causing me to yelp loudly over the remaining screech that should be closing me in.
Scampering across the carpet, I listen for the slam of the screen door, but the hinges scream back open, meaning he’s already inside the house by the time I barrel into my room and close the door.
I quickly press the lock, swallowing my balloon heart and taking backward steps toward my bed with the lamp behind me stretching my shadow along the wall.
What if he’s mad enough to kill you?
The sound that slips out as his boots thump closer is concerning.
I can’t say it’s distress making me whine. The sound is too needy, as if it’s derived from the carnal ache spreading within my hips.
My butt slams into the dresser between Ora and I’s beds, listening closely to his boots thudding to a stop right outside my door.
Without warning, a loud crack resounds throughout my room. I yelp, jolting my weight into the dresser with a vise-grip on the edge and craning away from Razor’s helmet rupturing through the wood.
The lamp behind me is wobbling, tipping its light back and forth on the splintering debris littering the carpet and his arm casting through the hole he just made.
Taking in a ragged inhale, precipitation beads on my face, watching his arm stretch further inside.
He tosses his helmet to the floor. Saying nothing. Just reaching inside with his black long sleeve still on and veering his hand to the left to meet the knob.
“Oh, shit,” I exhale.
He’s going to kill me. He’sactuallygoing to murder me.
I can’t blink. Him unlocking my door without a single peep is pumping too much blood through my veins and adrenaline is whooshing my head.
The pop of lock disengaging makes me yip and jump, a fast breath clogging my throat and sitting on the back end of my tongue, teasing me with the consequence of my own actions.
He reels his arm back through the hole—then my door creaks open.
“Why’d you run from me, little bunny?” he asks hoarsely, his voice as tormenting as the angle he’s holding his head in.
He enters my room. One foot at a time. With the dim bulb swaying over the venomous slits hollowed by the skull he wears tonight.
At least… my setting spray works really well. But I am not thrilled about my reproductive system declaring this the moment I fill my womb.
Not knowing what to say, I quake, shifting in place and leaning away from him taking the last few steps.
“Answer me,” he snarls, hanging his head to gut me with animalistic eyes. “Please… Fuck.” Stopping flush against my toes, he tosses his head back on a pant, swiftly skating his gloved hands around my tense waist. “Please fucking answer me, baby.”
“I had a panic attack,” I rush.
My body starts melting on its own, crawling into the touch he’s aggressively running down my butt.
His eyes soften within the umbra, his feet coming around the sides of mine and his hands retracing up my waist. “Then why wouldn’t you run to me?”
“You were busy.”
He clenches his teeth, drawing the painted teeth on his lips thin. “No.” With a growl, his callousness returns, his face hardening and his handle on me becoming rough. “You came out of your fucking tent and ranfromme. Why? What were you doin’?”
The card.
